


Sentiment

by imaginary_writer



Series: Aftermath [4]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: GUYS, Gen, Idk what to tag here, help!1!, no seriously
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-29
Updated: 2013-01-29
Packaged: 2017-11-27 10:19:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/660826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imaginary_writer/pseuds/imaginary_writer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Emotions were never a Holmes' forte, but Mycroft Holmes always worried about his little brother. Constantly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sentiment

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place after Sherlock bbc's The Great Fall.
> 
> Un-beta-d and un-Brit-picked. So all faults is no one but my own. Please notify me if you see any. Also, any criticism, comments, and kudos are always welcome.
> 
> I don't own the characters, just an amateur playing with words. No profit comes from this work, /obviously/.

He told his brother that caring never had any advantage. All lives end, all hearts broken. They were the words his mother parted to him and he carried close to his heart all the time.

He was in the comfort of his home, alone in the late of night in front of the firelight, with a dark screened phone that he thumbed in circles and a drink in another hand. Every time the light was on, a text appeared on the screen showing a coordinate; a proof that his brother was still alive.

Unlike others, he knew Sherlock was alive, and he intended to keep it that way. He tended to keep him safe and bring him safe to London, to John. It was a promise he tended to keep. It was feeble the least, as Sherlock was always so cunning and elusive in losing his men, with his ever changing looks from one day to another.

He continued to stare at his phone, now its screen blackened once more. To everyone he seemed forlorn, but that was ridiculous as emotions were beneath him, a Holmes. Sadness, grief, hurt, all of those were beneath him after all. And yet…

And yet he felt fear, neither for him nor his reputation, but for his brother. It was a dangerous path when Sherlock decided to dance with Moriarty in that wicked game, to challenge each other with their brilliance; a battle of wits. But in the end, it had doomed them both, tugging with them the people that they cared to the pits of darkness, groping in darkness to find light, a reason to live just another day. At least that was the case with Sherlock.

He typed a text to an unknown number, knowing that the receiver would never receive it. The number would be discarded as soon as the coordinate was sent. He would never know until the next coordinate was sent to him with another unknown number. He could send men to find out, sure, but like always, Sherlock would always find ways to lead them to a wild goose chase. The text was sent before he could think twice, his drink was downed in one go, and left the room to rest in his bedroom.

In a country halfway around the globe, a _ding_ was heard, signalling the arrival of a new text message. The owner frowned, wondering who could send him text. _Could be dangerous_ , he thought with sad amusement. Against his better judgment, he opened the message, and after he read it, a smirk played on his lips. He thought of replying to it, but thought better of it. He deleted the message and turned off the phone before throwing the phone away.

The text had read: _Be safe, dear brother_.

_Sentiment_. It did funny things to people.

 


End file.
